


What You Mean

by Desdimonda



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/F, First Time, Kinda, One Shot, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fareeha was reckless on a mission and Angela goes to confront her; they both end up admitting more than they had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Mean

Angela dropped her staff as she walked into the room, dark, lit only by the dim light of the monitors, their white glare highlighting the metal edges of her staff as it clattered against the tiles.

“You were reckless out there, Fareeha,” cried Angela as she walked across the room to Fareeha who was attaching the last of her prosthetic limbs with a click. She stretched the fingers of her left hand, ensuring it was fit right. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you to pull back!”

Fareeha sighed as she heard the frantic click of Angela’s heels across the floor approach. “I had it under control,” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice from the pain in her chest from a broken rib - or two; she would not admit to her mistake; she had made a choice, and she had suffered. That was enough.

“Barely!” said Angela as she reached Fareeha, her hand curving around her metal arm. Fareeha didn’t flinch, she didn’t pull away. “If I was - was _one_ step further away, I wouldn’t have been able to reach you and you probably would have _died_.”

“We’re all going to die someday,” she said, quietly, flippant, feeling Angela’s fingers tighten on her arm, the synthetic nerve endings registering the sensation as Angela pulled her around, sharply. “Dying in battle is an honour I do not fear.” 

Fareeha met Angela’s gaze, eyes wide with worry, lips parted, skin paled. Her white hair was a mess, strands stood from her head like wire, and shocks of white had fallen from her ponytail, sticking to her neck, damp with sweat. “Well it is one I fear.”

“You have those who you can call a family - friends who would walk to the ends of the earth for you,” said Fareeha, finally shrugging off Angela’s touch as she felt her fingers press into the cybernetics of her arm. “I wake up, alone. I walk, _alone_.”

At every word, Angela shook her head, lips parted in a cacophony of surprise, of anger, of hurt. For Fareeha was never alone; she had family, friends - them, Overwatch, _her_.

Didn’t she?

“You have us, Fareeha,” said Angela, her words rising a pitch as she searched Fareeha’s face; her eyes averting Angela’s gaze. But she still held her head high. “Overwatch are your family.”

“No. They are yours. Jack’s. Lena’s. Genji’s. Jesse’s,” she caught Angela’s gaze, pushing back her braid behind her ear. “I am an outsider; the daughter of someone you all used to know. The daughter of someone you all used to love. I live in the shadow she has _always_ cast.”

Angela had heard these words before fall past her lips, tinged with sadness, with anger, with regret. And every time she had tried to help Fareeha extinguish them; to help her see herself for the warrior - the woman - she was.

But her words had been pitiful. They had been timid and had barely glanced the surface. Angela was no wordsmith, spilling forth accolades about those she cared for, to try and heal their hurts. She struggled to express herself; her emotions. And that was why she worked so tirelessly in her field; that was why she did not sleep for 38 hours; that was why she flew to the front lines of battle; that was why she did, this.

Her actions were her words. Her actions, were her love.

“Fareeha - you are -” Angela paused and ran a hand through her hair, pulling more strands of hair from her ponytail. “Is this why you have been so reckless of late?”

“What of it?” said Fareeha. “Maybe in death I will eclipse my mother’s shadow and people will see me, not _her_ , when they look at my face.”

“Mein gott, Fareeha,” she said, grabbing Fareeha’s arm. “There are those who love you now; who would give their life for you, now.”

Fareeha smirked at Angela’s words. “Who?”

 _Her actions were her words. Her actions, were her love_. 

Angela stepped forward, sliding her hand along Fareeha’s arm to the curve of her neck; flesh, warm, stuck with strands of her black hair. She watched Fareeha’s lips part in surprise; she watched her eyes widen; her pupils dilate; the tilt of her head as she leaned in without another moment lost, wasted, time to question her decision, and caught Fareeha in a kiss.

A kiss that made them stagger.

A kiss that made Fareeha catch Angela’s body with her arms; strong, steady, as she pressed against her chest, the scratch of Angela’s breastplate rough against Fareeha’s thin tank top.

For the briefest of moments, Angela pulled away, the brush of her lips dragging against Fareeha’s. “I would,” she said, winding her fingers through Fareeha’s hair. “I would give my life for you.”

“Why?” asked Fareeha, simply, searching Angela’s blue eyes, dilated.

Angela drew her thumb beneath Fareeha’s eye, tracing the tattoo that curved elegantly beneath her lid. “Because I love you.”

Fareeha’s reply, was a kiss. She pulled Angela against her, roughly, metal fingers seeking a hold around her arms, shoulders, back, neck. Fareeha stumbled, colliding with the table where her suit lay, but she didn’t care, and hoisted herself on top, spreading her legs to let Angela stand between.

Angela’s wings moved with her, reacting to her steps, her kiss, the chime of metal against metal as they opened, shrouding them in a haze of yellow as they kissed, the light shimmering against their skin, their lips, catching the whites of their eyes each time they briefly opened them to look at each other. And each time, a smile dragged against their kiss; breathless, rough.

A kiss that Angela had dreamed of; wished for; never before finding the courage.

A kiss that Fareeha had felt unworthy of; but had wanted, with her heart, with her head.

A kiss that now dragged across Fareeha’s cheek, to the slide of her jaw, stuck with strands of black hair. Fareeha’s moan, breathy, ragged, whispered against Angela’s ear as she slid her lips to her neck, dragging her teeth against her lover’s flesh, as her fingers sought the edge of her tank top by her waist.

Fareeha gasped at the touch, her body arching to the cold touch of Angela’s fingers - she was always cold, _so cold_ , and Angela paused, pulling her lips from her neck.

“Do - do you want me to stop?” she whispered against her skin, her hands, poised, motionless before her stomach.

“ _Neve_ r,” said Fareeha, pushing Angela’s hand back to her waist. “Your fingers are just, cold.”

Angela, smiled.

Eagerly, Fareeha guided Angela’s hand beneath her tank top, dragging her brisk fingers across her stomach, over her bruised skin. She didn’t even try to make Angela be gentle, for the pain she felt from earlier, it paled, fell away, beneath Angela’s touch. 

Beneath her kiss. 

Beneath her love.

Fareeha gasped as Angela’s hand sought the curve of her breast, cold skin to Fareeha’s warm. The gasp, the whisper of a moan made Angela catch her lips into another kiss; a kiss that accompanied her touch. Gentle, slow, as she dragged her thumb across Fareeha’s nipple, peaked beneath the thin fabric of her top. 

From Angela’s touch, Fareeha’s body arched, the curve of her spine, exquisite, still bathed in the glow of Angela’s wings; wings which hissed with their movement as the metal dragged together. But she was impatient, and pulling back her hands, parting their bodies for a moment, Fareeha tugged off her top and dropped it to the floor.

She shivered as the cool night air met her skin, the swathe of her black hair cascading down her back. Angela’s kiss returned, but it slid to her neck, to her shoulder, to the crest of her chest, her lips pressing against her skin, ardently. Angela’s hands glanced along her sides, bruised, scratched - she was careful, gentle, wary of hurting her lover as she remembered what had happened earlier that day with her step away from death.

Fingers cupped the soft flesh of Fareeha’s breasts, thumbs circling her peaked nipples, her skin, dappled with goosebumps. Her kisses moved, peppering the crown of her breasts, the drag of her teeth sending a shiver of pleasure through Fareeha; a shiver that rippled across her skin, raising the fine, dark hairs on her arms, legs, neck, at the base of her stomach, that crowned the spot between her legs.

As Angela’s lips circled Fareeha’s nipple, she rolled her tongue over the tip, listening, feeling, the reaction of her lover. Her moans, so free, so loud, were _nothing_ as she had imagined. Angela had expected Fareeha to be quiet, contained, rigid; but beneath her touch, she felt, free. 

Metal fingers pulled free her ponytail and let her white, tangled hair fall to her shoulders, the tips curled. And then her kisses moved again.

They met the taut ridges of her stomach, rippling with each breath, with each moan, which each time she arched her body in pleasure. Angela dropped to her knees, her wings hissing at the movement. She took the edge of Fareeha’s pants with her hands, and slipping open the buttons, she began to drag them down her thighs, roughly.

Fareeha laughed as she wriggled atop the table, giving Angela the freedom she needed to remove her pants. She leaned back on her hands and pulled her legs together, watching Angela as she shuffled back onto her heels, drag her jeans off the metal of her legs and cast them aside.

Angela paused, lifting Fareeha’s calf to her shoulder. She leaned in, not letting Fareeha’s gaze fall away and one by one, her kisses trailed up the length of her calf, of her thigh, the synthetic nerve sensors reminding her how touch felt; how _she_ , felt.

Fingers slid along her other leg, until they reached her stomach. Angela dragged her fingers down, her short, ragged nails dragging against the flesh before the met the spot between Fareeha’s legs, crowned by a patch of hair, soft against her cold fingers. 

Her kisses were so close; her breath, warm, as she hovered before Fareeha’s lips, wet, warm, her fluids staining the surface of the table and her skin.

Fareeha’s fingers coiled through Angela’s hair, and pulled forward her head, just a breath, just enough. She could not wait another breath, another agonising moment as Angela knelt before her, shrouded in the glow of her wings.

And with a smile, Angela pulled Fareeha closer, so she teetered on the edge of the table, her thighs pressed firmly on either side of her head. Angela parted her lips and with a deep breath, as she drank in her lover’s sweet scent of her arousal; as she dragged a thumb along the edge of Fareeha’s slit; as she leaned in closer, her breath, warm, against her wet lips, Angela extended her tongue and dragged it along Fareeha’s lips, hot, wet, bittersweet.

Fareeha was not quiet. She did not quell her moans; she did not steady her hands as they dragged through Angela’s hair, as they scraped against her scalp; her body arched sharply, but beautifully, the drape of her black hair cascading behind her head as she threw it back. As the shudder of her moan passed her lips; as her thighs, twitched, dragging against Angela’s ears.

It fuelled Angela. It made her never want to stop hearing the way she sung; the way her body moved, breathed, beneath her touch. She wanted to remember ever nuance of Fareeha’s body. The way her left hand moved more than her right; the way her legs twitched with every roll of her tongue; the way she gasped, ragged, raw, as Angela pursed her lips around the bud of nerves at the crest of her slit; the way she whispered small words in Arabic; the way she was loud - oh, so _loud_.

Angela pulled back for a breath, and glanced up at Fareeha, watching the smile curve on her pursed lips as their eyes met. Her black hair was a mess, thin lines of black sticking to her damp skin; her eyeliner was smudged, disfiguring the tattoo beneath her eye; her cheeks were flushed red; her nipples were peaked on breasts that shadowed the bruises, the scratches, the scars of war. 

But she had never been so _beautiful._  

Angela, had never been so, in love.

Angela heard Fareeha’s moans quicken, she heard her breaths grow shorter, rapid, and she felt her body begin to quiver.

Her hands curved beneath Fareeha’s thighs, flesh clutching to metal, and she dragged her forward, as much as she could, hoisting her thighs higher, dragging the metal against her head.

Angela curved her tongue around her spot, again, and again, and again, her fluids covering the table beneath, staining Angela’s cheeks and Fareeha’s thighs, the yellow of Angela’s wings still casting their ethereal glow.

Fareeha’s fingers lifted as her grip lessened, her hands suspended above Angela’s head as she was close, so close.

And with an arch of her back, with a throwback of her head, her black hair like a swathe of silk at her back; with her hands poised, elegantly; with her thighs pressed against Angela’s head, tightly, involuntarily; with a cry so loud, so ragged and raw, Fareeha reached her climax, throwing back a hand to the table at once to balance her body, un-steadied by the claws of pleasure that ravished her body.

Eyes closed, as she tried to catch her breaths, she felt Angela rise to her feet and lean forward to catch her in a kiss. Fareeha smiled, tasting herself on her lover, against her lips, on her tongue. She wound trembling arms around Angela, fingers brushing against her wings as they sought her back, her neck, her head, holding her in place as they kissed.

“I never told you I loved you back,” she said, quietly, breathlessly.

“You didn’t have to,” said Angela, smiling into their kiss. 


End file.
